Itchy Scratchy

After Cade got off the bus, yesterday, I noticed he had this giant...thing...on his face.  I asked, "What is that?  On your face."

Cade raised his eyebrows, shrug-flapped, and said, with disgust, "Flea bite.  I have them all over my legs, too." 

I looked down at the bumps on his legs and said, "Cade, Honey, those don't look like flea bites to me.  And if you're telling people a flea did that to your face, they're going to think our fleas are big as gorillas."  (Then I sprayed him with Clementine's giant can of OFF!, just in case, and applied some calamine lotion.)

When Jim got home, he examined the bumps.  "Those aren't flea bites," he said.  "Besides," he added, looking at me, "I didn't see a thing on his face when he got out of bed this morning.  And I definitely would've noticed that."

By nightfall, bumps appeared near Cade's ear.

By the time Cade got off the bus at his dad's, today, his chest and back were covered.  Cade's stepmom took him to the doctor.  Poison ivy.  Prednisone.

So the Boy Scout who spent the day, Saturday, in the bush is learning (the hard way): he needs to wear long pants while in the woods.  And perhaps the same Boy Scout will take it upon himself to learn to identify poison ivy, and to avoid it. 

In the meantime, if you see my boy?  That giant thing on his face isn't a flea bite.  If you want to know what those look like, Little Sister is your go-to person.